Page 132 of Fractured Devotion
“I wanted you free,” he corrects.
The contradiction stings. I stare at him, really stare, until I see the edges of fatigue around his eyes. He looks carved from stone and shame.
“I don’t know what you see when you look at me,” I whisper.
He breathes in and replies, “A weapon still sharpening.”
I shake my head. “I’m not your project.”
“No. You’re my proof.”
“Of what?”
“That trauma doesn’t have to end in ruin.”
I laugh softly and joylessly. “You sound like Reyes.”
“No. Reyes believes in hope. I believe in control.”
We stand in silence again. It’s colder now. More dangerous.
I glance at the desk, at the flash drive, and at the history he unearthed without permission.
“You should destroy it,” I say.
“I can’t,” he says with a sigh.
“Then give it to me.”
He hesitates.
And in that half-second of pause, I see the truth.
He won’t. And it’s not because he’s keeping it for leverage. Not even for curiosity.
But because somewhere in that corrupted footage is the only version of me he’s convinced is real.
And he doesn’t want to lose it.
“I don’t need your version of me,” I say, my voice low. “I don’t care what it means to you, or what it proves. That girl doesn’t belong to you.”
Kade doesn’t respond, not with words. But his expression shifts, just slightly, enough for me to see the crack behind the mask.
“She doesn’t even belong to me,” I add. “Not anymore.”
I walk past the desk, reaching for the flash drive. He doesn’t stop me. I curl my fingers around it and feel its weight. It’s deceptively small, like trauma always is.
He watches me, still as death.
“I’m not asking for permission,” I tell him.
“You never have,” he murmurs.
I slide the drive into my coat pocketwith calculated intent, leaving nothing to chance.
“You think you care for me,” I say. “But you don’t. You only love what I survived. You love the shape of my damage because it mirrors yours.”
His jaw flexes. “That’s not true.”
